


The Gentle

by Vulgarweed



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Group Sex, Multi, Pagan Rites, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insulted by the most undesirable of proposals, Susan, perhaps, made the greatest commitment to Narnia of them all. (prompt was: Susan/anyone, "jealous")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gentle

Prince Rabadash! A strutting, crowing gamecock with no true wit, no true wisdom, showing only the sort of humour that comes at the expense of others. He was asking for her hand when he had no understanding of giving a heart, and full of unveiled condescension and barely-veiled aspersions on her virtue. Well, if she should give herself to such a man for lands and riches, she would indeed hold her virtue in little regard.

After the jousting, after the hunting, came the feast and the merry revel – for as unhappy and repulsed as the Kings and Queens of Narnia were in their hearts with the offer from the Calormene delegation, it would not do to show them skimpy hospitality. When the Calormenes had taken themselves aside to their own tent, staggering and sniggering, the Narnians danced upon the green. Susan watched her sister with a cold eye—little Lucy, the Valiant, skilled now in the courtly dances of the handsome princes of Archenland who came to woo her, happiest of all when she whirled hand-in-hand with her close advisor Tumnus, laughing like a child and heedless of the grass stains on her gown.

Virtuous indeed. and, Susan was beginning to suspect, more than a little simple. Her innocence drew gentle hearts, attracted all the noblest and kindest of the Beasts, and probably was the reason she always saw Aslan first and, Susan thought, had always been his favourite. If Rabadash turned his sneering, lustful eye on her, Queen Susan the Gentle would kill him with her bare hands. No one seemed eager to do her the same courtesy.

In the twilight, Cair Paravel glittered above the field, and the woods turned darker with oncoming night and Susan's mood. And as she stormed across the green, the drumbeats and the seductive piping of the satyrs and the dancing fauns seemed to grow wilder and more violent, pulling her along towards the gloaming wood, which rustled with the late-coming guests

_I wouldn't have felt very safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan,_ she'd said.

_I should think not,_ Lucy'd said.

Well, Lucy was safe now, and Susan wasn't; she didn't want to be. When first she'd seen Bacchus, she was little more than a child, and so was he to her eyes, his half-nakedness harmless and his Maenads mere playmates. Now, when he burst from the woods at the call of the music—and of her own angry longing—he was no child but a man, strong-muscled and fierce-eyed.

They surrounded her, and he bowed only half-mockingly; she was a Queen after all. But she was there to forget all that, and she met his wild, goatlike eyes proudly as she pulled the pins from her hair and let its glossy black length fall near to her feet – her bare feet, slippers kicked off, stomping the ground to the rhythm of the primal drums. She did not know how to dance like this before, but it turned out something in her body, between her belly and her knees, had known it always. As the beat increased its fervour and the Maenads raised their strange, yodeling cry, Susan joined it: _Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi-oi._ Sweat prickled her skin; she fumbled with the claspings of her bodice, and the hairy, half-naked wild girls surrounded her and helped her off with the stiff brocade like untamed handmaids, exclaiming with laughter over the heavy cloth. Then, when there was no more cloth, their stroking, grasping hands were all over her—eager and feverish with her skin, rubbing her hips and her thighs and her breasts, toying with her nipples, slipping exploring fingers between the wettening ridges of her sex, exclaiming in feral joy.

They didn't even need to hold her in place when Bacchus himself came to claim her—first of many. His animal eyes gripped hers and drank in her defiant eagerness; she spread her legs lewdly and offered herself with fierce delight, eyes fixed hungrily on his cock, red and erect and big. The pain was brief, the blood was scarce, and the sharp ecstasy of his friction and his joy and his musky scent was enough to drown all regret away. They coupled ecstatically in a ring of dancing Maenads and satyrs; Susan found her back brushed by danging breasts, her soft buttocks touched by curling fur; she reached up to steady herself on someone's horns. She had never imagined she could want so much. She wanted them _all,_ and she was still Queen.

Let Rabadash do as he will, she thought. My virtue is given to Narnia.

Let Lucy be the favoured child. For I have given Narnia more than she.


End file.
